


Hero Among Thorns

by Daebakinc



Series: Hero Among Thorns [1]
Category: Kpop - Fandom, Monsta X (Band), Shownu - Fandom
Genre: Action, F/M, Romance, Undercover AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2019-11-23 21:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daebakinc/pseuds/Daebakinc
Summary: When a mistaken connection results in your kidnapping by one of the city’s most notorious gangs, the undercover detective Hyunwoo has no choice but to rescue and protect you, and, most dangerously of all, fall in love with you.





	1. Chapter 1

You really need to learn how to say no. If you could, maybe you wouldn’t be walking home on ghostly streets filled with only stinking trash, uselessly changing traffic lights, and the occasional taxi with its slouching driver working the graveyard shift. Your keys are imprinted in your palm from gripping them so tight as a precaution against being a woman walking alone late at night.

“Who’re you kidding,” you mutter to yourself, needing someone to talk to. You are a perfectionist, for better or in this case worse, and can’t leave a task half-assed. That and you always squeeze in as many hours as you can because you need the extra money to keep your landlord and student loan company off your neck.

Often times you feel like the company is no better than a loan shark, targeting those in need and then growing fat without a care as those same people sink towards the poverty line no matter how bare they work their bones. You kick a crushed beer can bitterly. If most of your paycheck didn’t go to them, you could afford to live in a better neighborhood or take a job that paid slightly less but didn’t fill your stomach with sickly dread every morning.

This secretary job was not one of those jobs. It hadn’t started out bad, but then your boss kept piling more and more responsibilities on your shoulders until you were doing the work of three people without so much as a ‘thank you’ or a pay raise from him. When he asked you to stay behind and file some unfinished claims, you should have known it was more than a few.

Your stomach grumbles, reminding you that dinner time is many hours overdue. A quick check of your pockets finds only a couple of coins, not enough for even a slice of pizza at the twenty-four-hour place down the street from your apartment. You know your bank account is similarly low and resign yourself to another night of ramen with a sigh.

A door opens a few feet in front of you, letting a thread of music twist and spin around your ears invitingly. Your steps slow so you can gaze through the wide windows even as you feel the too familiar twinge of nostalgic pain pinching your heart. As the dancers inside cross the floor, your mind cruelly recalls the names each move. Plié, grand jeté, temps levé, flying pas de chat. That used to be your world, a room of mirrors and wood floors, hairspray and sweat, elegant hands and strong legs, pale pink stockings and floating black skirts.

Since the day your tiny feet stepped onto the gray rubber floor in a rainbow tutu your mother bought, you knew it was in your blood. Every year you diligently practiced the positions, stretched, danced in front of unforgiving mirrors for hours, all for the day where your heart soared with the music on a brightly lit stage at the annual recital. While you were never the starlet of the number, you always held on to the hope of being good enough to be in the background of professional performances someday.

That dream ended with a little misstep, a skid of a slipper. Your ankle still twinges sometimes in phantom pain, echoing the snap of bone. After the doctor’s approval, you tried going back. How hard you tried, but your ankle could no longer hold up with the rigorous demands. You cried for weeks, maybe months, in the dark of your room with pieces of shredded photographs surrounding you like broken shards of glass.

Feeling tears welling in your eyes and unwilling to undergo the humiliation of strangers watching you cry, you tear yourself away from the window and continue walking. It’s not too bad, you remind yourself. Through a favor from a friend of a friend, you teach a beginner’s ballet class at the local gym every Saturday morning. It’s as satisfying as a teaspoon of your favorite ice cream with the container sitting just out of reach, but something is better than nothing.

At least you have that to look forward to, as well as the rest of the weekend that’s almost here. Two whole days to spend in ways totally up to you are right in front of you. Well, kind of. Amber and Amy, your two closest friends, texted you this morning about their plans to kidnap you and hold you hostage at their place for a day and night of food, movies, and absolutely no work talk. It’s better than spending your weekend in a blanket cocoon in your bed wishing your life would be like a movie: an adventure, a romance, and a happy ending all neatly falling into place in a timely manner.

You’re already planning what you need to pack when a glossy black car flies by so close to the sidewalk the mirror almost hits you. It takes the corner so quickly the tires squeal in protest as two come off the road.

Heart racing with adrenaline, you straighten your trembling legs and yell after it, “Stay on the road where you belong, asshole!”

Probably some drunk rich kid taking his toy for a spin because he thinks he’s auditioning for the Fast and the Furious. You quicken your pace, the need to be safe at home behind a locked door tripling.

An engine revs behind you. A loud bang like an exhaust explosion sounds. Something slams into your shoulder, the force enough to make you stumble and fall to the ground. Concrete and glass rip through the skin of your palms where you try to catch yourself, but the pain in your shoulder overwhelms it like a volcano would a match. Your right arm crumples beneath your weight, your cheek slamming roughly against the cold sidewalk.

Somewhere, someone is screaming. You should get up. Find her. Dully, you note brakes screech beside you. Good. Someone can help the woman. When a hand slams over your mouth, stinking of grease and urine, you realize you’re the one screaming.

Coarse hands grab your bare arms and yank you off the sidewalk, hauling another muffled scream from your lips at the pull on your shoulder. You want to wretch, head spinning. You can feel something warm and wet flowing down your front and back. The iron smell of blood snakes around the stench of the hand over your mouth.

Dizziness blurs your vision as two people drag you towards a black car, the tips of your shoes scraping against the concrete. It looks like same one that almost hit you. The backseat window rolls down. One of the men holding you grabs your chin and jerks it up. Through watery eyes, you watch a shadowy figure lean closer, resting an arm on the side of the car. A black tree tattoo scuttles up his inner forearm, its branches harsh and sharp. He looks at your face with empty eyes and nods.

You’re lugged towards the back of the car. Scared, hurt, and confused, your body offers no resistance. A trunk opens in front of you. Your arm is pulled upward. Something pricks the inside of your elbow. A hard shove on your back sends you tumbling into the small compartment. The trunk slams shut, and you pass out.

 

Raised male voices bring you to full consciousness. Thick darkness meets your open eyes as your mind fights through fogginess to remember where you are. It snatches at brief flashes of sensations. 

A strap digging into your stomach as you’re carried into a cold, echoing building. A tightening around your shoulder so hard you scream again. Someone cruelly yanking your hair to lift your face to a blinding flash.

You whimper and call for help, but something dry and rough is stuffed in your mouth and pulls against your cheeks. It tastes like sweat, old and balled up on your tongue. 

You try to move, but your limbs won’t obey. Hundreds of tiny plastic needles dig into your wrists, your ankles, your chest. As your eyes adjust to the dark, you can barely make out cheap rope binding your body to an old chair. Your captors were thorough; there’s not enough give in the rope for you to bend down to take out the gag. The pain from where you were shot sends your body into spasms when you bump it against the back of the chair when you try. You had to be shot. That’s the only explanation for the blood and the agony.

One of your shoes is missing and your jacket is gone. Chill seeps into your skin until you can’t tell if your shaking is from fear or cold. Your bones and muscles ache, and your stomach painfully clenches around nothing. Your shirt sticks to your body, stiff and itchy with dried blood. A rough bandage marked with dark splotches binds your shoulder.

Tears start streaming down your face. They kept you from bleeding out, but that must mean they have other plans for you. You’re going to die in the dark and you don’t even know why. You’re just a kid with a crappy job pretending to be an adult and trying to survive. Your family isn’t rich, nor are your friends. You certainly don’t have enough money for a ransom. Are they going to kill you later or are they planning to torture you or worse before doing so?

The male voices come closer. A light flicks on outside your room, outlining a door just in front of you. They’ve come for you. Quivering, you shrink into yourself as much as you can as if you can hide.

“None of your boys followed you, Shownu?” a man asks. The voice is cocky, full of reckless machismo like a 1920s gangster.

Another man answers, “I told you they didn’t. I gave you my word. Now, where is she? If you hurt her, you and your boss’s heads are mine.” You don’t recognize his voice, but the bite in it leaves no doubt his threat isn’t an empty one.

What have you gotten into?

“Chill out, man” The first man laughs humorlessly. “You saw the picture. We roughed her up a little. Haven’t touched her since. Had to make sure you took us seriously, you know? Easy patch up. Shouldn’t stop her from doing the fun stuff in no time. She’s in here.”

Keys jingle in the lock and the door opens. The sudden brightness blinds you, the hurt a temporary distraction from the dull throbbing of your wound. A shadow blocks out the light and hands come to your face.

Your eyes jerk open. A man crouches in front of you. You study him even as he brushes your sweaty hair away from your face to study you. Full lips any girl would envy, a strong nose, defined jaw, long black bangs hanging into dark brown eyes. You don’t think he’s one who took you. You can’t place his face. 

But he’s acting like he knows you. His eyebrows are pressed together in a worried frown, his jaw gritted in the anger smoldering to life in his eyes. His fingertips are gentle and quick as they ghost over cuts on your face and hands and knees. They hover over your shoulder before thankfully falling away without touching it.

You flinch when he edges closer, but he only carefully pries the gag out of your mouth. Your first breath is a hiccup. The growing panic in your chest squeezes your lungs so they pump harder, turning your breathing to shaking gasps.

“Shhh,” the man soothes softly. His forehead presses against yours as he whispers, “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. It’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you breathe back. You can’t speak any louder if you wanted. Your mouth and throat are too dry.

“I know, I know. I’m one of the good guys,” he promises, drawing back enough that you can look him in the eyes. Even in the dark, there’s a steadiness there that you immediately cling to. His voice fades in and out like an echo. “We’re going to get you out of here, okay? Just do what I say when I say it. You have to be brave, okay? Think you can do that for me?”

You nod quickly and stop immediately. It makes you feel worse.

“Good girl.”

“Too bad you didn’t guard your girl better, Shownu. Should’ve known someone would pay for you moving in on territory that’s not yours,” says the man standing in the doorway. His face is still in shadow, but those of the men behind him are not. Nor are the heavy looking guns held in hands that obviously know how to use them.

Biting your lip, you try not to cry harder. You have no other choice but to trust this total stranger wiping away your tears as they fall with kind fingers. 

“Tell us where your stash is, and we let her walk away. You stay so we’re sure you don’t lie, and your crew don’t jump us.”

“Fine.” Shownu doesn’t look away from you, as if the thugs behind him aren’t a threat at all. “Just let me get her out to my car, alright?”

“Fine.”

Someone hands Shownu a knife, which he uses in quick, expert flicks to cut you free. He catches your slumped body and leans it back against the chair. You’re grateful for that. Any strength you had to keep yourself upright is long gone. Shedding his jacket, he drapes it around you. Fir and orange and musk replace the blood and fear smell in your nose. He must be cold in only a white tank-top so thin it leaves none of the well-formed muscles beneath to the imagination.

You stifle another cry as Shownu eases you into his arms bridal style with your wounded side away from his body. He strides out of the room as if he owns it. Your belief in your survival grows a little, but you still shut your eyes and turn into Shownu’s hard, warm chest. You don’t want to see anymore. You don’t want to feel anymore. You just want to be home.

Air smelling of industrial smoke and the roar of distant machinery hit your senses in a matter of minutes.

“Almost there,” Shownu murmurs. His breath tickles the top of your head. “I’m going to put you in a car. Cover your ears and stay low once I shut the door. Understand?”  
He takes the tightening of your fingers on his shirt as a ‘yes.’ Shownu’s hand leaves your back, followed by the click of a door.

The leather seat is expensive smooth beneath your cheek as Shownu tenderly maneuvers you onto it. The car smells new too. Too bad you’re getting dirt and blood and Heaven knows what else on it.

As you swim in your own misery, you see Shownu’s hand slide from adjusting the jacket over you to dip under the seat. When it comes back into view, his hand is closed around the dull black handle of a gun.

“Lay low,” he orders softly. He smooths hair away from your face again. 

You almost believe what he said earlier, that he’s one of the good guys. There’s something in his eyes that invites you to trust him. But then the moment is over and it’s as if something in Shownu shut off. He gives you one last nod and stands.

He closes the door. Pandemonium erupts.

Gunshots and screams and curses make it through the thick windows and your hands that cover your ears. You cower, heart frantically pounding. The car rocks and what sound like multiple bodies thud against the metal, but nothing hits you. No one tries to drag you out.

Then, silence.

When someone opens the door, you scream and scurry back.

“It’s okay. It’s just me,” Shownu says in a low voice. Blood runs down his cheek from a scratch and on the knuckles of his hand that still clutch a gun. His shirt sticks to his chest with sweat. “I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to hear that. We wanted to extract you without exposing you to more, but they were too fortified.”

You lean your head against the seat to make all four of him stop moving. It doesn’t work. You close your eyes. Through gritted teeth, you ask “What’s going on? I’m not who you all think I am. Why did you save me?”

Shownu hesitates, holstering his gun in a shoulder strap as you wait. “I couldn’t let innocent blood be on my hands. Are you alright?”

“I don’t think so.” You quickly abort the mission of shaking your head. Maybe it’s stress, a whack to your head, blood loss, but all of sudden you’re really not feeling good. Heavy and light at the same time, burning and freezing all at once.

“Jooheon!” Shownu beckons to someone. “Jooheon, to me. Now.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

A blond man in a biker’s jacket is at Shownu’s side in seconds. His soft face is out of place in this kind of situation. He slides into the car beside you to gently take your wrist. You can tell he’s really eyeing your shoulder, but he doesn’t make a move towards it.

“What’re we looking at, Jooheon?” Shownu asks.

“Pulse is steady but weak. Judging from the added palor, significant blood loss at the very least.” Jooheon’s gaze moves up to your face. Addressing you with a kind smile, he asks, “Can you tell me what day it is, please?”

“Friday or Saturday?” you mumble. His dimples are made for poking, you think fuzzily. “I have a class to teach Saturday morning.”

“Shit.” Jooheon glances over his shoulder at Shownu, then back to you. “Did they give you water or food at all, sweetheart?”

“I don’t remember,” you reply honestly. “I don’t think so?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

You close your eyes again. You could’ve sworn his skin was turning green. “Walking past a ballet studio... they were doing floor exercises… I wanted to be them…”

Jooheon’s finger runs up to the crook of your elbow. “Are you having any headaches? Vision problems? Dizziness?”

As you open your mouth to answer, your body decides it has other plans. Scrambling over Jooheon, you collapse in his lap and choke out acrid liquid, the only thing left in your stomach, right in front of Shownu’s shoes. 

The asphalt starts fading into a thicker blackness, just as you hear Jooheon’s distant voice saying, “Minhyuk! IV from my bag, now!”

=============================================================================================================

Your pillow smells wrong. Instead of your citrus shampoo and fresh linen detergent, utilitarian pine fills your nose with each breath. When you open your eyes, your ceiling is wrong too. Plaster smooth, not ugly popcorn textured. Must still be dreaming. You groggily reach to rub the sleep away, but your arm doesn’t move. 

Looking down, you find it strapped to your chest with blindingly white bandages. Something tugs on your other arm. You find a strip of clear medical tape securing a needle sunk into the skin of your elbow, the needle attached to a tube. A bag of clear liquid is at the other end of the tube and hangs from a silver rod beside your bed. 

A man also sits beside your bed in a black computer chair, his head drooping forward on his chest, lips slightly parted. Tight jeans hug powerful legs and narrow hips. A black T-shirt emblazoned with a silver tribal turtle design is looser but does little to mask the muscles beneath. He mumbles something and tosses his head. Your breath stutters as you recognize his face. 

Shownu, they called him.

Everything comes back.

The gunshot. The warehouse. The car.

Your head shoots off the pillow as you try to sit up, only to fall back with a loud moan as a sledgehammer collides with your skull, then another as a deeply settled ache in your shoulder throbs in protest of the drop.

“Easy there.” Large, warm hands carefully lift your injured shoulder to reposition a pillow under it. “Moving isn’t going to be fun or advisable for a few more hours at least.”

“Where am I?” you mutter.

“Somewhere safe.”

You peep through your lashes. Your heart beats faster at the sight of a gun tucked into a holster at his hip. As gentle as his hands may be, this man is a criminal. Remembering his threat to the other man, you doubt he is one whose hands are unstained with red. You have to get out of here. Now.

“Jooheon said you might wake up when the pain medication wore off,” Shownu says. He rearranges the blanket around you. “Are you in pain?”

You slump a little further into the pillows and lift a hand to your forehead. Making your voice soft and thick, you whisper, “I… I need…” Silently, you send a hasty prayer to any god who’s listening.

Shownu’s breath ghosts across your cheek as he leans closer to hear. “Yes?”

Your hand snakes out and grabs the gun, pushing the barrel against his ribs. “I need you to be quiet or I’ll shoot.”

He freezes, eyes unreadable as they stare down into yours.

When he says nothing, you push yourself up and away, keeping the gun pointed at him. Forcing more strength into your voice than your body possesses, you tell him, “I don’t know what sick thing you had planned for me after I got better, or maybe even before, but it’s not happening. I’m leaving right now and you’re going to help me.”

Shownu slowly raises his hands and backs away, nothing but calm, almost indifference on his face. “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen. You’re staying here until I say otherwise.” 

He sits down in the chair again. “Shoot me if you want,” he says evenly. “But I am not the worst thing out there. You step out that door, what happened last week will happen again.”

The gun is heavier than you thought. You fight to keep your hand steady and trained on his chest. “It won’t. You shot the guy who kidnapped me, didn’t you?”

“Word travels fast in the underworld, particularly when it’s a weakness. Others know your face, connect you to me just like he did. There’ll be a price on your head too good for the common career criminal to pass up. Like it or not, I am the only one who can keep you safe.”


	2. Chapter 2

Though it’s been less than a minute, your shoulder aches from keeping the gun aimed at Shownu’s chest. It’s so broad, you’d be hard pressed to miss it, you grudgingly note. The door is only a few steps away. You can hear the white noise of street traffic coming from the window behind Shownu, meaning there are cars you can flag down to make a quick escape once you get out of the building. But something other than your weak legs keeps you in the bed.

An instinctual trepidation taps on your spine like a skittering mouse. The raised hair on the back of your neck feeling Obi Wan probably had when he approached the Death Star. What if Shownu is right. The closest you’ve come to the crime underworld is when a kid in high school offered you a weed brownie. But crime movies are one of your weaknesses. You’ve watched hundreds documenting the twisted and bloody. 

You know the violence the darker side of humanity is capable of, how all too often it judges the blood of the innocent as worth less than that of the immoral. The only time innocence possesses value is if it can be used as a tool. And tools are easily discarded.

You don’t want to die.

Shownu sits unmoving. Even his eyes remain steadily on yours without a single nervous twitch towards the door or the gun. That pisses a part of you off. Shouldn’t he be feeling at least a little threatened?

Buying yourself time to dispel the dread and the watery trembling of your limbs, you ask, “Why did he, they, whoever, think I was your girlfriend? Do I look like her or something?”

“I don’t date.” Shownu says.

“Bull. Look at you,” you blurt out. With his looks, he must have tons of people tripping over themselves. The added danger of a bad boy would make him even more appealing, like waving catnip in front of a kitten. Given other circumstances, you might have been attracted to him too. 

Before your embarrassment can take over, Shownu surprises you by laughing. He leans back in his chair, the very picture of ease as if you’re talking over a cup of coffee instead of a gun. “You’re still suffering from that anesthesia overdose but thank you.”

You do still feel a little woozy, but you’re not about to admit it. “Answer the question.”

Somberness falls back into his eyes, though a twinkle of amusement lingers. He folds his arms, the muscles straining against his honey skin. “I have no idea, but I’ll find out. Our paths crossed at some point. Must have. It would have to be significant enough to give the appearance of a relationship.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you in my life unless some government agency Jason Bourne-d me.”

“What?” Shownu’s body shifts forward, so subtly you might have missed it if you weren’t on your guard in case he made a grab for the gun. The shadow that passes over his face makes you wonder if maybe he’s the Jason Bourne here. A sixth sense warns you he could be just as dangerous.

“Nothing.”

A flash of light distracts your eye towards the window. Sunlight glints off the shiny surface of a cheap rainbow pinwheel stuck in a flowerbox across the street. Drooping ivy and innocent daisies wave in a breeze between the pinwheel and a a giant metal frog. The frog, dressed in painted on overalls, holds an eternally empty fishing rod. Although you think it’s ridiculous, the whimsy always makes you smile as you pass it.

Shownu’s voice saying your name makes you jump. Your fingers tighten around the gun’s handle in fear, your heart thudding with sickening crashes against your stomach. “How do you know my name?”

“One of my men recovered your purse from the warehouse after... well, after. Your wallet and license were still inside.” He looks over his shoulder, then back to you with shrewd eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“No. No.” You stop yourself. You can’t be distracted. All you want to do is escape. Quickly. Cursing at your stupidity, you ask, “Is there anyone else here?”

“Two of my men are in the living room last time I checked,” Shownu replies easily.

Not the best odds, but it could be worse. You really hope they like Shownu enough to not intervene with a gun at his back. Pulling back the blanket, you set your feet on the floor. The room spins a little, but nothing you can’t manage.

As you’re about to order him to stand, someone knocks on the door. “Shownu?”

He glances at you, but answers before you can give any command, too frozen with fear to do so. “Yeah?”

The door opens, but thankfully you’re hidden from the man’s view by it and he doesn’t enter the room. “Boss called back.”

Shownu’s body language is relaxed, his body sunk into the chair, giving no indication of distress. “And?”

“She doesn’t really like the plan, but she agrees it’s the best we can do for now given the situation and what Kihyun and Minhyuk found. Changkyun vetted her so she also approved your request.”

Surprisingly, Shownu smiles. It’s a really cute smile. “Thanks, Hoseok.”

“How’s our little fighter doing?”

Fear spikes through your body again. Your finger curls around the trigger when the door starts opening wider, but Shownu stops Hoseok with a wave of his hand. “Still asleep. I’ll come get Jooheon if anything changes.”

“Alright. Just remember, you need to eat too. One of us can relieve you when you need it.”

“Will do.” Shownu waits until Hoseok closes the door to look at you. He smiles again, appearing relieved about something. “That makes things a lot easier.”

“Easier? What easier?” you demand nervously. For all you know, he has another gun hidden on him somewhere. Stupid. You should have checked him. “What plan? What request?”

“You like asking questions, don’t you?”

“I like living.”

“I don’t lie. You’re safe as long as you’re with me. I’m one of the good guys.”

“Excuse me if I’m not very trusting, Shownu, if that’s really your name. It’s not like I’ve been shot, kidnapped, and drugged within the past twenty-four hours,” you reply tersely.

“I know. You’re doing very well considering all that.” Somehow, Shownu’s tone makes his words sound more like genuine praise than patronization. “You’re right about one more thing too. Shownu isn’t my real name.”

“Shocking.”

Instead of getting mad, your sarcasm has him laughing again. You’re starting to wonder if anything phases him or if he’s some kind of human Winnie the Pooh.

“You’re definitely going to get along well with everyone. Good.”

“If you don’t remember,” you say, jerking the gun, “I don’t plan on staying long enough to ‘get along with everyone.’”

“And if you don’t remember, I said you aren’t leaving,” he says evenly. “If you let me finish, you’ll understand why.”

“I don’t want to; I just want to go home. Now, let’s go.”

You push yourself off the bed. Your knees shake, but you lock them to keep yourself standing. Walking may be troublesome, but you can keep a hand on Shownu’s shoulder as you walk behind him. The man looks like he’s built of mountains. You’ll save ripping out the IV until he opens the door.

Shownu stays seated. As if you had never spoken, he calmly says, “My real name is Son Hyunwoo. I’m an undercover special agent for the NIS. I’m investigating an inner-city gang known as TS. Among other illegal activities, they are suspected of smuggling large quantities of military grade automatic assault weapons into the country. My team and I have been posing as black-market smugglers for the past four months to infiltrate their operation.”

A cop? Is this for real?

As your mind struggles to process, Shownu continues, “We have enough to arrest the local chapter of the gang, but we want to shut down the whole operation. That means digging in deeper and stepping on some toes to do it. That seems to be where you come in. Yew, the man who ordered your kidnapping, is a TS lieutenant. His brother is one of the suppliers. Apparently, they don’t like more outside competition and decided to take care of me by taking you.”

Your first instinct is to laugh. It’s so far-fetched that you could be plopped smackdab in the middle of such a made for Hollywood story. However, the lack of humor on Shownu’s face discourages that response. Besides, why would a gangster choose a covert agent as his cover story?

Your second instinct is to demand proof. A badge, a phone call with his superior, anything. But carrying or possessing anything connecting him to law enforcement would be a rookie mistake, an immediate death sentence if it fell into the wrong hands. Undercover field work requires experience, smarts. An agent trusted with a long-term operation like this would have rid himself of any kind of identification to link him to his real job.

As you deliberate with yourself, Shownu waits. His fingers tap a rhythm on his folded hands, but his face is serene as ever. You have to admit, thus far Shownu has done nothing to harm you or give a reason for you to be afraid he would. He admitted he doesn’t know you; he could have left you to rot in the warehouse. And now, if he really wanted to, he probably could overpower you and recover the gun with little effort. Other little things start making sense, like his word choices. You can’t recall ever hearing a gangster use words like “extract” or “fortified” or “recover.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” you ask. You lower the gun an inch, silently signaling your willingness to listen. “Isn’t all this classified? I could be a spy for Yew.”

“That call Hoseok just came in about? It was my captain giving me permission to disclose certain aspects of our operation to reassure you. I can’t do my job if you don’t trust me. As for you being a spy,” Shownu chuckles as if enjoying a joke, “you’re gutsy enough, but Yew would never send a woman. He underestimates them. He’s stupid. Our tech did a background check while you were asleep too. You passed. I’m telling you all this because my captain agreed that you are to be placed under protective custody as a material witness, provided by me and my team.”

“For how long?”

“Until we close this case.”

“And how long will that be?”

“Anywhere from a few weeks to a few months, if we’re lucky” he says with a shrug.

“A few months?” you squeak. Your legs give out and your butt slams onto the mattress again. “I can’t do ‘a few months!’ I have a job, bills, family, friends, a home…and stuff! That just can’t go on hold while I sit here.”

Shownu sighs, rubbing his eyes with both hands. “It’s not safe for you outside of this apartment.”

“Why?” Your frustration makes it hard to keep your voice quiet.

“Two of my men reconned your apartment to bring back some personal items for you. It was trashed. Whoever did it left a very clear message: if they find you alone again, it will not end well.”

“Trashed?” Your voice is weak in your ears and you hate it. Your apartment isn’t the greatest, but it is yours. You keep it clean, filled it with secondhand furniture you fixed yourself and pretty, useless things that make it feel like home. A home completely of your own making. And now, it’s gone.

Shownu says your name again, softly, sympathetically. When you look up, his image is blurry. You realize tears are brimming in your eyes and crossly wipe them away. Homes can be rebuilt, you remind yourself. You’ve picked yourself up from the bottom before and you can do it again.

“I have friends I can stay with,” you tell him, lifting your chin. “Can’t I just get a police escort or something?”

“You could, but there’s a problem with that.”

“What?”

For the first time, a flash of annoyance passes across Shownu’s face, but you sense it’s not aimed at you. “We’ve persuaded a number of people to testify against TS since we began the investigation. They’ve all ended up dead or missing no matter where we put them.”

The gun looks uglier than before in your lap as your stomach churns again. “Dead?”

He nods. “We think there’s a mole.”

“So, what keeps them from finding out about me?”

“This is a black operation. Only my captain, the agency director, and this team know of its existence. As long as you stay here with us, you will be safe. I promise you that. I will not let anything happen to you. But to do that, I need you to trust me.”

Looking in his eyes, you search for anything, anything at all to dissuade you. Although your heart is still unsettled and your mind spinning with the idea that someone wants to kill you, you swiftly realize there is little choice. If you refuse, you’ll be putting more than yourself at risk. That is unacceptable.

You hold out the gun, handle out.

“Thank you,” Shownu says politely as he accepts it. A small smile hints that your manners amuse him. He returns it to the holster on his hip with the smoothness of someone who’s made the motions thousands of times. “Our medic, Jooheon, wanted to check on you when you woke up. I’ll send him in.”

“Wait.”

He pauses with his hand on the door handle.

“How did you know I wasn’t going to shoot you?”

Shownu’s mouth twitches upward. Taking the gun from its holster, he ejects the cartridge and shows it to you. It’s empty. “Now that you asked a question, can I ask you one?”

Embarrassed, you can only nod, eyes on the floor.

“What did you see out the window before?”

“I- I just recognized that flower box across the street,” you murmur. “There’s one just like it across from Ms. Sara’s building.”

“You mean Ms. Sara from 515? Always has a hair in a bun and nicely dressed even if she’s just staying in? Makes the best sugar cookies with mini chocolate chips?”

You nod. “She’s a patient at the office I work at. I pick up and deliver her prescriptions, help out around her apartment, keep her company when she gets lonely sometimes since it’s harder for her to get around since she lost her foot to diabetes.”

Now that you think of it, you remember Ms. Sara gushing about the handsome young man who’d moved in a few floors up and how he helped her move and assemble her new dresser a few months ago. She’d even encouraged you to sneak up to try to catch a glimpse.

“If you’ve spent a lot of time in this building,” Shownu says, interrupting your thoughts, “that could be the connection Yew made between us. He was certainly desperate enough to be grasping for any leverage he could find.”

“Why?” you ask, suddenly desperate to know why your life had to be turned on its head and kicked in the ribs a few times for good measure.

“I’ll explain later. I promise,” he tacks on at the expression on your face.

You could argue, but a headache is blooming in your temple and that won’t help it all. “Fine.”

Shownu nods and leaves. As the door closes, you clumsily pull the blankets back over yourself, then jerk them back up.

Soft, blue lounge pants hug your hips instead of your sensible slacks and your button up shirt is gone, replaced with a loose black tank top. Your ears burn hotter when a quick check finds that your bra is new too. It makes sense given everything was probably ruined by blood, but the idea of a stranger stripping you is not the most comfortable.

A knock has you hurriedly dropping the blanket back into place. No sooner has it settled than the door opens. You recognize the man who walks into the room instantly when he smiles and exposes twin dimples.

“Hi,” he says, closing the door behind him. His leather jacket is replaced by a large black hoodie, making him appear even younger than before. “I’m Jooheon, team medic, but Hyunwoo already told you that, didn’t he? How’re you feeling?”

His smile welcomes a small one in return on your face. You quickly take stock of your body. Aside from the ache in your shoulder, you surprisingly don’t feel horrible. Hungry and thirsty but not horrible. “Um, mostly okay? I do have a headache.”

“Good. I’ll get you something for that in a bit. No fever, dizziness, racing heart, metallic taste on your tongue?” When you shake your head, he smiles again and drags Shownu’s chair right beside your bed. Gesturing to your unbound arm, he asks, “May I?”

You nod, and Jooheon carefully takes and pulls your hand towards him. His fingers press against your pulse as he eyes a thick silver watch on his own wrist. Satisfied with what he finds, he moves his gentle hands further up your arm. “I’m going to give you a little pinch, but it shouldn’t hurt, alright?”

“Okay.”

The prick of pain is barely noticeable. Jooheon makes a happy noise in his throat and grins. “Good, you’re recovering very nicely. We can take this out now.” Jooheon leans down to pull out a cotton pad from a small bag beside the bed. With the same efficiency, he plucks the tape and needle from your vein, pressing the cotton to the spot to staunch the bleeding.

“What was that for?” you ask.

“You were severely dehydrated when we rescued you, so it was just to help replace those salts, nutrients, and fluids,” he replies as he turns off the drip with his free hand. “You also had some symptoms of local anesthetic toxicity, which required a different solution, so your arm may be bruised for a while. I didn’t want to disturb your other arm because whatever idiot was keeping you sedated did not have medical training.”

“I was sedated?” You remember the prick in your elbow, the fuzziness of your senses in the warehouse. You couldn’t have been out for more than a few hours, right? “How long?”

Jooheon avoids your eyes as he retrieves a band-aid to place over the cotton. When he looks up, a ghost of guilt lurks behind his features. “Three days.”

“So,” you pause, desperately trying to recall memories of a single day’s passing. None come. Panic’s claws dig into your chest, but you shove them away. Attempting to stay calm, you confirm, “I was gone three days? Today’s Sunday?”

“Monday. We rescued you Saturday night, but the medication I gave you so I could clean your wound and to help your body deal with the pain kept you unconscious another day.” Something in your face prompts him to hurriedly add, “Hyunwoo wasn’t contacted until Saturday afternoon. If he’d known, we would have gotten you out of there the same night you were taken. Yew’s a bastard. He likes playing with people. He probably hoped Hyunwoo would go into a panic after he realized his girlfriend were missing and do something stupid so Yew would have an excuse to kill him.”

A sick feeling pools in your stomach as anxiety, fear, and anger roil in your chest. It spikes as a haunting thought forms. Your eyes drop to your hand, fingers clenching and unclenching. “I wasn’t…I mean, no one…”

Jooheon’s eyes widen when he catches onto your unspoken question. His hands fly to cover yours, their heat offering needed comfort. “No. God, no. I didn’t do a full exam, but I didn’t find any evidence they touched you after they took you.”

“But they might have if you all hadn’t come.”

Instead of answering, Jooheon squeezes your hand. The silence tells you it’s better to not imagine what might have happened. Your captors would have done far worse.

You force a smile to banish those thoughts. Keeping your eyes on your hands, you say, “Thank you for saving me, and taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome. It’s quite literally what we swore to do. I swore to it twice so I’m double bound.” Jooheon chuckles. His attempt to lighten the mood doesn’t go unnoticed.

Your smile becomes a little more natural as you look at him again. “Twice?”

He holds up two fingers. “Once when I became an EMT, once when I became an agent. I think I have a hero complex. Probably inevitable. My mom was a police officer, you see. I practically grew up in the station since my mom couldn’t find a sitter most nights. I was basically raised by a whole team of heroes. Luckily, they were a team of patient heroes. I can’t tell you how many times I handcuffed myself to random things. One time I even handcuffed myself to the drink machine. They still have no idea how I did it.”

The idea of a tiny Jooheon innocently beaming up at a group of street-hardened cops as they scratch their heads has a giggle bubbling out of your mouth. Jooheon beams triumphantly at the sound.

“You didn’t tell her the drink machine story, did you?” A slender man with pale skin and fox eyes enters the room with a tray, shaking his head and smiling wryly. “You really need to come up with new ones.”

“She’s never heard it before though,” Jooheon says with a slight whine. “And it got her to laugh.”

“I laugh at you all the time, doesn’t mean you’re actually funny.” As Jooheon gapes, his friend nudges him aside and trips a set of legs out from the bottom of the tray to set on your lap. It holds a bottle of blue sports drink and a bowl of soup that smells mouthwateringly good. Offering you a hand and a charming smile, he introduces himself. “If you need anything, ask me, Kihyun.”

“He may only think he’s funny, but he is good at finding things and cooking,” Jooheon admits. With a friendly elbow to Kihyun’s ribs, he adds, “And being a smartass.”

“Thank you for noticing,” Kihyun replies sweetly. Turning his attention back to you, he says, “Eat and drink what you can. It’s not much, but we’ll work up to more. After you finish, I’ll show you around.”

“The place has four rooms if you include the bathroom,” Jooheon snorts. “Not much to ‘show around.’”

“She needs to meet the others if she’s going to be living here.” Glancing at you, he says, “Don’t worry, all seven of us don’t live here. We just use it as an unofficial HQ. It’s easier that way. I think the missing ones should be here soon, if you’re up for it.”

“If you shut up, maybe she’d eat and then she’ll be up for it.”

Kihyun shoots a glare at Jooheon before smiling at you. He gestures towards the tray. “Please, ignore us. Eat.”

“Thank you,” you say, ducking your head to pick up the spoon and holding back a laugh at their bickering. Obviously, they’re close and old friends. You wonder if the rest of their team is the same, but you’ll find out more about the strangers you’re trusting with your life soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Under Jooheon’s watchful gaze, you shuffle out of the room after you eat and take a nap. The sun’s light is weak with dusk, the electrical lights humming above your head to brighten the hallway. A television’s indecipherable buzz gets louder as you walk down the short hall, passing two closed doors. When you step into the doorway leading to the living area, the first thing you notice is how cramped it is.

The kitchen area is small but neat and modern with slate gray walls and tiles. A short half-counter separates it from the living room. Two large couches and an armchair in a darker shade of gray than the walls and overstuffed for perfect naps encircle a widescreen television. A weights bench and stand with free range weights is tucked into the corner by the small balcony. But maybe it isn’t the furniture that makes the room seem too small. It very well could be the six men ranged about the space. 

Kihyun washes dishes with his back to a dark-haired man in an oversized hoodie hunched over a bulky laptop on the counter. Lines of green numbers and letters flash across the screen in meaningless sequences. Two men sit side by side on one of the couches in jeans and old graphic T’s, both animatedly discussing the soccer match on the television. One is blond, lanky, and practically vibrating with energy from his gesticulating hands to his bouncing knee. His companion is slightly calmer but just as intent and looks like he could be gym buddies with Dwayne Johnson. Yet another man with an angelic face dominates the other couch, his legs for miles dangling off the edge of an arm as he sleeps.

Shownu, or rather Hyunwoo, you remind yourself, sits in the armchair, his eyes following the ball on the screen. He’s changed from the jeans to more comfortable sweatpants a shade lighter than his shirt. Although you don’t make a sound or move, Hyunwoo’s gaze flicks to yours. 

All the air rushes from your lungs. The medication Jooheon gave you must be stronger than you thought. No way Hyunwoo’s soft smile and the way it so genuinely shines in his eyes can have that effect on you already. 

Must be a side effect of the medication. Has to be.

“Guys,” Hyunwoo rises from his chair, “our guest is up.”

Mr. Muscles shoots to his feet with a disconcerting speed, his neighbor rising from his seat as well. When his sleeping friend fails to follow, Muscles nudges the sleeping one’s feet off the couch. “Come on, where’re your manners? Stand when a lady comes into the room.”

“Getting there,” the friend mumbles as he sits up. He opens one eye to glare at the offender. “You didn’t draw the short straw for dawn surveillance.”

“I’m assuming you want us to introduce ourselves?” the blond asks Hyunwoo even as he moves around the couch. With a winning smile and waving hand, he comments, “Looks like I was pretty spot on. Everything fit okay?”

You pause mid-smile. “Excuse me?”

He gives you a boyish smile of apology. “Ah, sorry, that came out weird. I’m Minhyuk. Resident mechanic and artist. I’m really good with estimating measurements so I picked up your new clothes since we hadn’t gone to your place yet. I wasn’t sure on some but-”

“Shut up before you sound like a creep,” says Mr. Muscles, laughing. He inclines his head to you in a princely nod. “Hoseok, ma’am, second-in-command of the unit. I promise we’ll do our best to make this experience as safe and painless as possible.”

The third couch resident yawns and starts to stretch. “Ditto what he said except Hyungwon, sharpshooter slash whatever the boss needs.”

“Please, don’t get up on my account,” you say, throwing out your free hand when he begins to rise. “If you had a late night, you need rest.”

Hyungwon gives you an unreadable look before turning his head towards Hyunwoo. “I like her.” He settles back into the couch, body slack but eyes alert.

Kihyun finishes drying off a hand to flick the last remaining team member lightly on the forehead. “This one’s Changkyun. Kid hacker turned good guy by our captain over there.”

Changkyun taps one more key, then turns around to give you a brief, assessing look-over. “Yo.”

“Hi,” you reply.

“By the way,” Changkyun’s eyes go to Hyunwoo. “Turns out your gym is the gym she works at.”

Something clicks in your mind as you look at Hyunwoo, mouth dropping open. “That was you!” you squeak.

Hyunwoo’s mouth pouts in confusion. “Me? I’m sure we haven’t run into each other there before-”

“No, no.” You try to wave your hand, but the sling hinders your movement. “My friend, Amy, she took a picture of you like last week or something when she saw you there. She sent me the pic because –… well, you’re hot.”

More than one of the men snickers. Hyunwoo just looks amused and shakes his head.

“Well, one more piece of the puzzle falls into place,” Hyungwon says. “Still begs the question as to why Yew made such a dramatic a move now.” 

“I’d really like to know a lot of things,” you add, trying to cross your arms only to remember you can’t. “I don’t take kindly to being shot, kidnapped, and drugged.”

“None of us enjoy it either,” Kihyun says matter-of-factly. He takes your uninjured arm and steers you towards the couch. Maneuvering Minhyuk aside with a bump of his elbow, he settles you in the space previously occupied by Hoseok and sits beside you. “But we do need to debrief you about what you remember. If you don’t mind doing that now.”

Jooheon answers the question in Kihyun’s glance over your head. “Without the lab, I can’t tell if any of the drugs used on her affect memory. That is if they haven’t already disappeared from her system.”

“You mean from when I was kidnapped?” you ask.

Kihyun nods and Minhyuk adds, “Don’t leave anything out. A detail may seem insignificant, but it could be useful to us.”

Hoseok picks up the remote to turn off the television. In the sudden quiet, you feel an intensity descend over the room. You look around to find each of the occupants intent on your face, your body language. Even Changkyun closes his laptop and watches from the stool. Jooheon and Minhyuk perch on the arms of Hyungwon’s couch while Hoseok stands beside Hyunwoo’s chair. The smiles are gone, replaced with the focus of hunters.

You are very, very glad these men are on your side and not after you. With their concentrated gazes and bodies leaning towards yours, they look like bloodhounds straining on leash, ready to track their prey to the ends of the earth. And you have no doubt once they do, it’s going to be dangerous for whoever it is.

“Um,…” Your voice falters and fails. Hyunwoo gives you a small smile. The tiny encouragement helps you find your words again. “I left work by myself at one that morning—”

“You work at a medical office, not a hospital. What were you doing there so late?” Changkyun interrupts.

“Our biller’s been out helping her daughter with a new grandbaby, so we were behind with insurance claims. Yester- that day was the last day to file them. I’m the only one who knows how to do it. I had to catch up on my own work, too: ordering vaccines and supplies, filing specialist reports, etcetera. The office is a mess if I don’t.”

“Not safe for a woman to be out alone like that,” you hear Hoseok mumble.

Minhyuk attempts to get the conversation back on track. “And after you left?”

You briefly describe your path home, leaving out your pause by the ballet studio. No need to relive that or drag them through your trip down memory lane. You describe the car that almost hit you, but then everything gets hazy. In the pain of being shot, your brain had been otherwise occupied.

Closing your eyes, you try harder. “I didn’t see the faces of whoever pulled me off the ground, but… there was a guy in the car, in the backseat that they showed me to. I couldn’t see his face. He was smoking something really bitter smelling. And his arm… there was a tattoo on his forearm. The outside of it. All black. Something like a tree, maybe?”

“Which arm?” Kihyun presses.

Eyes still shut, you shift your body, placing yourself back on that street. “I was walking down the street, so the right? I guess?”

“If you saw the tattoo again, would you recognize it?”

“Maybe.”

When you open your eyes, you catch the shared look between all the men. Changkyun magically has a tablet in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. The tattoo meant something.  
Changkyun turns the screen back to you. “This it?”

The photo is slightly blurry as if the camera had to zoom in from a distance. It only shows an arm, raised in the air in mid-gesture. Although the finer details of the tattoo are smudged at the distance, you recognize the twisted trunk and severe lines.

Ignoring the chill that settles in your chest, you quickly look away. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“We must have really pissed Yew off if he oversaw the job personally,” Hoseok comments, glancing down at Hyunwoo. “This would be the first sighting of him in months.”

Hyunwoo’s gaze stays on the floor. A crease etches deeper between his eyes. His hand comes to his chin, his pointer finger rubbing the skin. “Maybe one of our recent raids hit a nerve.”

You wrap your free arm around yourself. “How… how bad is this guy? You said he was some kind of gangster, right?”

“He deals in drugs, contraband, murders, humans,” Jooheon spits, the hatred in his voice surprising you. “Anything sold on this region’s black-markets, he’s had a hand in it at some point. Arms are just his newest ‘business venture’.”

“So why hasn’t he been taken down before?”

Kihyun laughs humorlessly. “He’s a bastard, but unfortunately, he’s a smart one. Always careful to never have his name on the papers or the money, kept himself small enough to hide behind the bigger fish. That is until he made an example of one of our undercover agents he caught sniffing around. Since that day, he’s been our top priority.”

You don’t dare ask if they knew the murdered officer personally or what kind of example Yew chose. From the grim look on the men’s faces, they took the loss personally.

You look at the photograph on the screen again. Even faceless, or perhaps because he is so, Yew looms more menacingly than before. You draw your legs up to rest your chin on your knees. What kind of horrors did such a monster have planned for you if Hyunwoo had not acted or if he had acted any slower. What would he have done if Hyunwoo hadn’t acted at all. Cold creeps further into your skin as the millions of horrible fates you could have met flash like a demented movie reel through your head.

“I’ll be right back,” Hyunwoo suddenly says. He walks out of the room and out of sight into the hallway. When he returns, he holds a candy pink hoodie in his arms.  
Unzipping it, he lays it across your shoulders. It’s ridiculously large and hangs loosely. But it also may be the warmest, softest, most comfortable thing you’ve ever worn. “You looked cold,” he says when you give him a questioning look.

“Ex-girlfriend’s?” you impulsively ask. With an internal sigh, you remind yourself it’s none of your business. And that you shouldn’t care. Not one bit.

Hoseok lets out a bark of laughter. “Nope. His.”

“His?” Incredulous, you pick at the fabric. They really expect you to believe some badass commando secret agent owns something like this? 

Then again, this is the twenty-first century. Screw gender conformity. Men look good in pink.

Hyunwoo doesn’t appear embarrassed by your tone, simply smiling. “It’s a graduation gift from my old swim team. One of the coaches use to call me a merman. The girls on the team took it a little farther.”

You stay absolutely still as he reaches out and pinches some of the fabric to show you. There, stitched in bright red thread and loopy cursive, is ‘Merman.’

“Always thought I was more of a turtle, but it’s all in good fun,” Hyunwoo adds.

“It’s cute.” You smile at the thought of little Hyunwoo, if he was ever little, surrounded by a throng of giggling girls as they present the hoodie to him.

“Thanks.”

Pulling the hoodie closer around you, you venture, “So, can I ask my questions now?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have any idea when I can go home? If you’ve investigating Yew for a while, doesn’t that mean you’ll be done soon?” Maybe with the others present, you can get a different answer.

“I already contacted both of your jobs with a story about you being injured while going home to visit your family.” Changkyun says, leaning back on his elbows against the countertop. “The documentation I included was enough to buy three months’ medical leave from your office job. After that, we’ll figure something out. The gym will cover your classes indefinitely until you’re back. Once I’ve made sure your phone and online accounts aren’t being monitored, you can contact your family. I’ll figure out a cover story for you then. Your rent will be taken care of as we go.”

He makes it sound like it was nothing. Has he done this kind of thing that often that it really is nothing for him? Your second thought is where are they getting the money from. Your place isn’t the Ritz, but nothing in this city is cheap.

Scrambling to do calculations in your head, the amount needed to cover your rent for three months at once makes you woozy. You’ll really have to live sparsely, more so than normal, but if there’s one thing you hate, it’s owing people. “Can I pay you back in installments after this is all done?”

Changkyun shakes his head and your heart sinks, only for him to say, “You don’t have to pay us back at all. Our pockets are deep for this op; we’ll add it to our expenses.”

Shit, that’s a lot of money. It makes you uncomfortable taking it. “But-”

Hyunwoo cuts you off. “Consider it compensation for testifying when we close the case.”

“I never said I’d testify,” you blurt out.


End file.
